She brought up my kidnapping over dessert. She’d heard about it

  and called Sam for a brief rundown of the events, but she wanted my

  version. I told her the complete story—minus a few details involving

  Moira.

  “Jack, when are you going to learn?”

  There really wasn’t much I could say. “Well . . ."

  “okay, what is it you want to talk about?” she asked, letting me off

  the hook.

  “I want to talk about Dub’s task force.” I was entering safer ground

  for me, but not for her.

  “I told you. That whole operation is hands-off. Nothing I can say or

  do.” She was blunt.

  “You may not have a choice,” I said with emphasis.

  “What do you mean?” I had her attention.

  “If I’m right, your U.S. attorney is on the take, and he’s involved in

  a conspiracy so big it makes the banking and mortgage scandals look

  like chicken feed.”

  “oh, Jack. I hope you have some actual evidence. You can’t just

  accuse a U.S. attorney of impropriety on a lark.”

  “My source says Dub has both a gambling habit and a penchant for

  prostitutes.”

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  “Do you have a credible source, or is this someone trying to smear

  Dub? I know you don’t like the man.”

  It was the reaction I expected. I waited for her to continue.

  She shook her head. “Jack, you know I would never condone that

  sort of behavior. If you have any real evidence to back it up, you need

  to go to the office of Professional Responsibility. But you’d better be

  damned sure. And I don’t see how it connects him to a conspiracy.

  Don’t forget that several senior attorneys from Main Justice have been

  assigned to his task force—it’s not just Dub. They all report directly to

  the Drug Czar. Are you saying they’re all corrupt?”

  “listen, Peggy, I admit I don’t have any proof yet that anyone’s on

  the take, or even that a conspiracy exists. Write all this off as evidence

  of my lunacy, but what if I’m right? You can’t overlook it because

  you’re under orders to let the task force do its job. I know you too

  well. What if I told you the task force’s real purpose is to confiscate

  research that may lead to a cure for cancer?”

  “What on earth has cancer got to do with dope dealing? Have you

  been diving off the shallow end?”

  She might have been right, but I found her total incredulity irri-

  tating. I plugged away, told her my theory about Doug’s research and

  why its destruction would be invaluable in certain quarters. I could

  tell from her expression, polite but bored, that I was getting nowhere.

  It would be a mistake to go any further.

  “I’m sorry, Peggy, you’re probably right. I shouldn’t have bothered

  you with any of this. I’m really sorry.” What I wanted to say was “so why

  in the hell did someone kidnap me and very nearly murder Micki?”

  “If you hadn’t bothered me, I wouldn’t have enjoyed this lunch, and

  you wouldn’t have found a realistic ear to bring you down to earth. It

  sounds to me like your Dr. Stewart is in deep shit, and he’s doing what

  most marijuana dealers do—holler medical use, with a new wrinkle. I

  know he was a friend, but you need to leave little Rock before you get

  yourself killed chasing rainbows or women.” She squeezed my hand.

  Well, shit, didn’t that make me feel better?

  Both Sam and Peggy thought I was nuts, that I’d lost all perspec-

  tive. I didn’t want to believe Doug was a criminal, therefore I had

  convinced myself that Dub was involved in a major conspiracy and

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  w e b b h u b b e l l

  two kidnappings based solely on the word of a Russian thug. Maybe I

  was delusional.

  I changed the subject, and we chatted amiably about old friends,

  but our words were a bit forced, the tone a bit strained. We finished

  our coffee, I paid the bill, and we exchanged an awkward kiss, once

  again promising to stay in touch. She was still a friend, but watching

  her walk out of that restaurant, I suddenly didn’t feel so bad about

  cancelling those dinners.

  I tried to reach Maggie, but she was out running an errand. A

  text from Clovis asked me to meet him at the office at three-thirty.

  I walked past the Treasury Department and decided to kill some

  time in lafayette Square. This tiny jewel of a park, originally known

  as Presidents’ Park, is situated directly across Pennsylvania Avenue

  from the White House and serves as a perfect venue for protestors. I

  always enjoy watching them tromp up and down the green, carrying

  angry signs and enjoying the exercise of the First Amendment. This

  week they were railing against the evil of canned tuna. The park was

  never empty, but I found a spot on a bench near the statue of Andy

  Jackson.

  The White House: home of the president of the United States, and

  the official office of the Drug Czar. The Drug Czar didn’t rank highly

  enough to actually have an office in the White House. More than

  likely his offices were around the corner in the New executive office

  Building or in Jackson Square, but his mailing address was the same

  as the President’s. Dub’s task force reported to the Drug Czar, not the

  attorney general. What did that mean?

  Although appointed by the president and confirmed by the Senate,

  the attorney general had to maintain some degree of independence

  from the political influences of the executive branch. The attorney

  general was also an officer of the courts and owes a duty to the justice

  system to make sure individual prosecutorial decisions are free from

  political considerations.

  So did this independence carry over to the Drug Czar’s office? The

  answer is an emphatic no. The office is a creature of politics, and I

  doubted that whoever reported to the Drug Czar felt the same ethical

  constraints that a career justice department employee might. That

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  concern had led me to approach Peggy, but I’d botched it. She clearly

  didn’t want to go near my theory.

  Had Peggy’s reaction been honest or had she been prepped?

  No need to get paranoid. Peggy had always been my friend, and

  still was, I hoped. I had to trust someone, and Peggy had lived up to

  that trust in the past. Sam and Peggy were both right. If I believed in

  the truth of my hazy allegations, I needed hard evidence, not theories

  grounded only in my vivid imagination.

  The man watched Patterson sitting on the park bench and grinned.

  He now had people watching Jones and Maggie, and he was tailing

  Jack. So far, so good. He’d figured Patterson would try to involve Main

  Justice. Fortson was a straight arrow, but any problems she might have

  created had been handled long ago. Jones would also strike out with

  his sources. Dub was too important an asset to let him leave tracks.

  A few rumors might still be floating around, but no hard evidence

  remained. Maggie would run up against a dead end at the federal

  agencies. Today she was knocking on the door at NIH, but the Gen-

  eral Counsel had been alerted. She would come up empty again. He

  found it irksome that no one seemed to know or care why Patterson

  wanted to accelerate the auction, but the client said they had the auc-

  tion covered. So he let it go.

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  45

  D

  When I walked into the office, Rose told me that one of Martin’s

  men had driven Maggie to NIH and Clovis had called to say he was

  running late. I sank into the chair behind my desk and decided to call

  Debbie and Paul. Why wait?

  “Debbie, is Paul around? Can you get him on speaker?”

  In a matter of minutes, I was talking to them both.

  “Debbie, I’ve got an idea, but I want you to think it through. Paul, if

  you think there’s any risk for either of you, you need to say so.”

  They agreed to be candid.

  “let’s see if we can’t shake things up. For the next week, every time

  Dub makes a public appearance, I want you both to be right there in

  the front row.”

  Debbie laughed. “That’s easy, but why?”

  “You’re too cute to miss, and eventually he’ll remember where he’s

  seen you. Your smiling face will surely fluster him, make him nervous.

  Paul, you’re there to protect her. once he remembers, he’ll want her

  to disappear—and I don’t want her to end up as road kill.” Tough

  words, but I really did want them to be careful.

  Paul cleared his throat. “Do you want her to speak, ask questions,

  or just be visible?”

  “Just be visible. It won’t take long for Dub to spot her, and the press

  won’t be far behind—but no talking or baiting, understand? Debbie,

  I know this is going to be hard, but I want you to tone down the short

  skirts and make-up. Pretend you’re a sorority girl. If the press throws

  you a question, just smile and walk away. Don’t try to make something

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  up. Paul, don’t let Dub’s deputies bother her. Debbie, if they ask you

  to leave, you need to leave straightaway. our only purpose is to make

  Dub sweat.”

  “A sorority girl? No way! Why can’t I dress up? He’ll be sure to

  remember me if I wear some of the same outfits I used to wear.”

  The thought of Debbie confronting Dub in a hooker’s outfit had a

  certain appeal. The press would have a field day. I shook the thought

  away. I was already asking too much of her. victims of trafficking have

  difficulty getting out after they’ve been rescued, but Debbie seemed

  to be made of special stuff.

  “No, Debbie, I need you to be subtle, intriguing. I want him to

  wonder. Paul, until Maggie gets there to help, I leave her outfits up to

  you. Nothing that makes a story.”

  “Got it,” Paul responded. I knew I’d given Paul an impossible

  assignment.

  We talked for a little longer and, to my relief, Paul reported that

  Micki was improving steadily. I asked Paul to tell her I’d call later this

  afternoon. I still hoped that either Maggie or Clovis might come up

  with something positive I could tell her. Maggie returned, and I told

  her about my conversation with Paul and Debbie.

  “What’s the point?” She asked. She settled into a comfortable

  leather chair, still holding the file she had brought with her.

  “Dub is surrounded by lawyers and law enforcement types giving

  him advice and keeping him under control. It’s a pretty good bet

  he hasn’t let them in on his secret life. I think he’ll develop serious

  heartburn when he sees Debbie—maybe he’ll make a mistake. even

  if he doesn’t, he’ll be distracted. You have to admit Debbie can be a

  distraction.”

  “I take it you’re finally learning?” Maggie grinned.

  We had a laugh at my expense before I asked, “Any luck finding

  Doug’s letter?”

  “The FBI, DeA, Drug Czar, and Homeland Security all gave me the

  run-around—again. They won’t acknowledge such a letter exists and,

  if it does, hell will freeze over before I see it. I’ve tried every trick I

  know. The FDA and CDC were more cooperative, but they insist they

  don’t have any correspondence from our professor.”

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  w e b b h u b b e l l

  “Somebody has to have the letter. We know he wrote it. Aw, hell, I

  hope to God he wrote it!” I said in frustration. I noticed that Maggie’s

  eyes were twinkling. “Rose said you went to NIH. What happened?”

  “Well, I started with the general counsel. To say he was unhelpful

  is an understatement. He was pleased to inform me that anything

  related to Doug’s research had been sealed by Dub’s task force and

  was exempt from the Freedom of Information Act. The same went for

  any letters Doug may have sent the Director. let me quote: ‘I don’t

  even have to go to the trouble to look. It’s all been sealed.’” Her dis-

  gust was evident.

  “I was afraid of that. It was worth a try. Thanks.”

  “let me finish. Do you remember Dr. Jonas Ketcher? He was Angie’s

  supervisor.”

  “of course I remember him. Why?”

  “As I was leaving the GC’s office, Dr. Ketcher stopped me and asked

  why I was there. As soon as I mentioned Doug Stewart he smiled, took

  my arm and led me down the hall. I liked his smile, so I told him the

  truth. He chuckled and said, ‘Nothing good ever comes out of a law-

  yer’s office.’ He told me that about three years ago everything that

  had Doug’s name on it had been boxed up and removed—every com-

  puter purged. It created quite an uproar at the time, but all protests

  were ignored, and the issue died down.

  “The timing agrees with what liz said about Doug’s letter, but it

  doesn’t help in finding the letter.” I sighed in frustration, but a smile

  still hovered on Maggie’s face.

  “I had exactly the same reaction, must have actually slumped,

  because Jonas put his arm around me and said, ‘Walk with me.’ When

  we reached his office, he closed the door. We just stood there for a

  minute—he seemed to be listening for something.

  “I was about to ask, but he put two fingers up to my lips and spoke

  softly, ‘When they purged everyone’s files, no one thought to look in

  Angie’s old office. We finally got around to cleaning it out and came

  across a box of unopened mail. Most of it was publications and flyers—

  junk. I told my assistant to give me anything that looked important

  and throw the rest away. She found a few letters. one was addressed to

  Angie and marked personal. I saw that it was from Doug’s address in

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  little Rock. I remember thinking how strange since Doug didn’t leave

  NIH until after Angie died.

  “He said, ‘I kept that letter and a couple of others in a drawer—

  I meant to give them to Jack, but forgot all about them. Probably

  should have turned them over to the General Counsel but it slipped

  my mind.’ He winked, unlocked his desk, and handed me a few enve-

  lopes. I thanked him, and he asked me not to tell anyone where they’d

  come from. I promised.

  “I let him escort me from the building, and as he held the door to

  my car open he said, ‘That letter might turn out to be just his Christmas

  list, but Doug never did anything without a reason. Give Jack my best

  and tell him that a lot of us at NIH are glad he’s defending Doug.’”

  “Finally!” I was suddenly excited. “Do you have it with you?”

  She handed it to me with a flourish and came around to read over

  my shoulder. In the manila envelope I tore open, I found a note card

  and a copy of a letter. I read the note first.

  Jack,

  I sent this to Angie's attention knowing she was already gone,

  but hoping somebody would pass it on to you. It seemed like the

  best thing to do. I sent another copy to your house. Please keep

  this letter in a safe place. It is self-explanatory, and I hope

  you never need it. Angie was instrumental in encouraging me and

  helping me get as far as I have. She said if trouble came calling

  you would help. I hope it never comes to that.

  Doug.

  I didn’t remember getting anything from Doug in the mail, but

  after Angie’s death I seldom looked at her mail, except for the obvious

  bills, throwing them all away. Idiot.

  I unfolded the letter. It was directed to the Federal Food and Drug

  Administration and the Drug Czar’s office. It showed copies to the

  DeA, FBI, CDC, HHS, NIH, and Homeland Security. It neglected to

  mention this copy.

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  w e b b h u b b e l l

  Dear Sirs:

  My name is Douglas Stewart, PhD. I recently completed a fellowship at NIH

  and am now a professor of chemistry, occupying an endowed chair at the

  University of Arkansas-Little Rock. Over the past several years, I have become

  more and more convinced that besides its therapeutic benefits, marijuana in